


dance among the spirits

by BlueSapphire718



Series: from the stars above (the cosmos are alight) [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - The Untamed | Módào Zǔshī Setting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mace Windu Appreciation Day 2020, Romance, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSapphire718/pseuds/BlueSapphire718
Summary: After receiving a plea for help from one of the villages in Geonosis, Mace Windu has to work with Kix Fett in order to take down Fierce Corpses and Ghosts that are rising more often than usual. It turns from performing a simple duty to discovering a conspiracy against them all.
Relationships: CT-6116 | Kix/Mace Windu, Plo Koon & Mace Windu, Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: from the stars above (the cosmos are alight) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553083
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is for Mace Windu Appreciation Day, where we stan one of the best Jedi Masters in the known universe!
> 
> For those who are completely unfamiliar with The Untamed and Mo Dao Zu Shi, no worries! I'll be trying to explain them throughout the fic. If you need clarification or have a question about this, comment down below so I can answer it to the best of my ability.
> 
> Shout out to the people who helped me develop some of this fic's concepts, and to the creators of Mace Windu Appreciation Day!
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

“I may have done something,” Plo says, stops next to him with a hum, and Mace has to resist the urge to rub his face with a hand. 

It’s not uncommon anymore for someone to come up to him and say they have done something.

There are many rules in the Jedi Sect, except it has been broken several times over the years, especially by one disciple by the name of Anakin Skywalker. Mace is perhaps one of the few left who is unbothered by the way Anakin acts by now, not about to hurdle him over a cliff. However, it’s a near thing when he does something stupid, which is nearly every week.

Then he has to consider the cultivators that are away to help different villages in different provinces, and somehow that leads to even more of a bigger problem. One of the many traits that the Jedi Sect is famous for is their luck. Said luck is perhaps considered worse than an average person, and Mace can’t blame them for saying that.

Agen, for example, has managed to break one of his legs during one of his unusual activities of finding slave rings of the Hutt Clan, and then managed to nearly crack his skull not even a few minutes later. Plo and Shaak have managed to adopt several children to allow them to grow up in the Jedi Temple during the past few years.

Another to be taken (the most) seriously, is perhaps Obi-Wan. He always manages to attract trouble, not even a couple of villages away when he finds a place full of resentment. Mace feels his eyebrow twitch from the memory of Obi-Wan’s last venture out of the Jedi Temple.

 _Sometimes_ , he thinks with a grimace, _it would be nice to not be a sect leader._

“You have always done something,” Mace tells him, breathes steadily. “Where is your cultivation partner? Is he not the one you should be going to?”

“Wolffe? Ah, he’s far too busy dealing with some Fierce Corpses near Naboo.” Plo’s smile shouldn’t be making him wary, but it’s a sharp, vicious thing under the disguise of innocence. Wolffe _has_ been able to quietly shoot down some of Plo’s more... erratic actions when it comes to thoroughly thought-out plans of some kind of trickery, or how to get rid of a Fierce Corpse faster. 

Not that they _need_ to get rid of them; Mace can just send them away for another time to use, with Demonic Cultivation, except... he hasn’t been able to control most Fierce Corpses he’s come across these days. Only the ones who are conscious, like Qui-Gon, he has been able to control. The others? His control over them is rendered useless.

He hasn’t been able to figure out who has been able to stop him from controlling the Fierce Corpses, even with Depa’s help, even with the different approaches they’ve made to Demonic Cultivation. They’ve tried controlling them in different areas, in places of resentment, but it’s only a couple of times Mace has been able to control unconscious Fierce Corpses, leaving the conscious ones alone.

Mace feels his hand curling into a fist, before he releases it, meeting Plo’s eyes. There’s no use worrying about it now, not when he still needs to hear Plo’s request.

“... is it a request from one of the villages?” Mace asks warily.

“More of a plea of help,” Plo says sincerely. “I need to stay behind to take care of Ahsoka.”

Plo’s adopted daughter. Mace isn’t surprised; Plo has been fussing over her since he brought her back to the Jedi Temple. She’s young, bright, always running around the Jedi Temple and bonding with the disciples, mostly with Anakin. Ah. He pauses, then a scream echoes behind him, with a distant crash.

He doesn’t blink an eye, and neither does Plo. They’re both used to it, and the mess the disciples cause will be cleaned up by the ones who made the said mess.

“Perhaps... you _should_ stay behind to take care of Ahsoka,” Mace says carefully, and that seems to be exactly what Plo was looking for, because his friend is _smiling_.

That is barely a good sign, if Mace has anything to say about it.

“Why, that seems to be a very good idea just now,” Plo agrees, eyeing him with a glint of amusement. There’s a twist of more amusement tugging on his lips, all good humour and something else. Mace raises his eyebrow and waits until Plo speaks again. “There has been an unusual amount of Fierce Corpses and Ghosts rising around one of the villages in Geonosis. They requested a cultivator from our sect in order to defeat the cause of this.”

“I will check it out, then,” Mace says flatly and ignores the look in Plo’s eyes. He needs to prepare all of his weapons, some tools, and supplies for the trip. And considering the sizable amount of distance from the Jedi Temple and Geonosis, it may take a week or so to get there.

“There’s another part to it that you may want to hear about, Mace.” He suppresses a sigh, before he turns towards his old friend. Plo smiles what would seem to be apologetic, but Mace has known him ever since they were disciples together, and there’s perfect innocence in that smile. Then, Plo hesitates. “You may not like what they also requested.”

“And what exactly did they do?” Mace asks.

“They also asked a cultivator from the Mandalore Sect,” Plo quietly answers. “It’s... not Jango, if that’s what you’ve wanted to know.”

“Fett can get lost at Dagobah Mountain for all I care,” Mace dryly informs him. “Who is the cultivator the Mandalore Sect sent to deal with this?”

“I believe,” Plo says steadily, like he isn’t responsible for this mess that he somehow managed to convince Mace to get into, “that it is Kix Fett.”

“Kix Fett,” Mace repeats, and immediately feels a headache coming on.

Jango Fett’s cousin, one of many considered for leadership of the Mandalore Sect, and perhaps a trained cultivator who opted to study medical arts as well. _And_ , Mace reflects as he lifts his eyes to study the leaves on the trees, _the rumoured one who knows how to weave souls back together_.

The cultivators of the Mandalore Sect are skilled, excelling in their own techniques of cultivation, and Kix is the one known for his music and healing. There’s rumours that speak of Kix being able to stitch a soul back together after being shattered, as well as being able to heal wounds with a soft pluck of his _pipa_. He’s apparently also a skilled swordsman, as expected of his sect.

He may be dangerous, may be an enemy. The Mandalore Sect has been on uneven terms with the Jedi Sect for centuries, and the present members are no different. Even if Plo had taken Wolffe as a cultivation partner, tensions still run high between the sects, and there’s no telling when it will all stop.

“Indeed,” Plo murmurs, jolts him from his thoughts. The other man taps a finger on his chin, before smiling brightly at him. “Well, you should get going. I know for a fact that the Mandalore Sect is closer to that village than ours.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mace says curtly.

“Like when you have said that and somehow half of the disciples managed to get on top of the roof?” Plo asks with a raise of his eyebrow, his robes shifting across the ground.

He doesn’t rise to the obvious bait, though he takes a glance towards the courtyard, spying some disciples circling around Shaak with awed looks upon their faces. This would have relieved him that someone is taking care of the disciples, except he’s also used to Shaak’s innocent and predatory smile. Mace knows her from when they studied together, too, and this is no different.

Shaak may be an excellent cultivator, but she’s also a dangerous swordswoman and someone who no one should mess with. Pretends to be frail and ladylike, when she’s really _not_ , and acts like a predator when a threat shows up. She’s still graceful and gentle despite it all, and every disciple loves her. Then again, she somehow manages to convince them to cause trouble and Mace cannot prove that _she did so_.

Perhaps Mace should convince Eeth to watch Plo and Shaak while he’s away. Eeth is at _least_ responsible for _some_ issues.

“Please tell Elder Yoda that he is in charge until I get back,” Mace tells Plo sternly. “Or if not, leave Shaak or Depa in charge.”

His friend’s smile seems to widen. “Of course,” he says like he’s planning something.

Mace has no intention of getting involved with whatever Plo is planning, so he inclines his head in a farewell and heads towards his quarters. His _dizi_ should be there, as well as some of his supplies, and he’ll have to head over to head over to the quartermaster and see if there’s some talismans that he can use.

Behind him, Mace hears the horrified shriek from one of the disciples and sighs. It’s just another day at the Jedi Temple.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a cultivator with the Mandalore Sect’s colours in front of him, and Mace doesn’t say a word. A _pipa_ is secured to the cultivator’s back, black and red robes shifting in the breeze, as well as a sword secured at his waist with a bag. He’s holding himself with resolute, a warm presence, and it’s... surprising, though not unwelcome.

When meeting with a cultivator from the Mandalore Sect, Mace usually expects hostilities from them, insults and snarls, though usually contained when a young disciple or child is near. This one seems more surprised than angry, brown eyes carefully assessing him before dipping his head.

“Patriarch,” the cultivator acknowledges him with one of his titles, inclines his head with a slow blink of his eyes. “I believed I was assigned Plo Koon for this?”

“I took it instead,” Mace says steadily, before shifting his gaze towards the village below them.

The forest around said village is withering, yellow and brown speckling the trees and the grass, leaving nothing but decay in their wake. It seems more gloomy here, less spooky, but more seemingly unstable with negativity, barely prickling against his skin from how far he is from the village. It’s not common for a place to have so much resentment in the air, even with Fierce Corpses and Ghosts haunting the area in order to have that effect.

Glances down at his _dizi_ , his hand drifting to touch it once, before he lets it fall to his side. The village seems to be bustling with life, despite what’s happened so far to them. There’s no animals, from what Mace can see, though he spies a couple of oxen near one of the stalls. The villager in charge of the stall seems to be selling some porridge and rice.

“Kix Fett,” the cultivator beside him quietly says, and when Mace looks at him, the man smiles humorlessly. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“We can race with oxen into town,” Mace blandly says, earns a quiet snort from the man beside him. Not as bad as he initially thought; it could have been worse. “Mace Windu.”

Kix offers him a smile before it vanishes, leaving them both in comfortable silence. Mace can’t help but steal another glance at him, observing how easy it seems for the other cultivator to carry his _pipa_. The _pipa_ is usually used as an instrument to soothe Fierce Corpses and Ghosts, and cultivators from the Mandalore Sect usually force them back with their swords.

So it’s quite intriguing to see one carrying a _pipa_ instead. Kix’s sword seems to also be in excellent shape, though he can’t tell much from the sheath that’s hiding it. Mace turns his gaze back on the village, and grimaces at the sticky feeling of resentment that seems to be flooding the air.

It isn’t that Mace isn’t used to it, but rather how this village seems to store so much resentment in the air. However, it’s enough for him to draw on it so he can control the Fierce Corpses. At least, he hopes to control them. Hopes to make sure they will stay under his control instead of breaking it. If the influence of previous areas he’s been in has spread to this one as well, there’s no telling what he can do, other than control conscious Fierce Corpses.

Beside him, Kix furrows his brows and begins to lead the way down. Mace only follows. “We should go in soon,” the other cultivator murmurs, loud enough for only their ears. “Find an inn, get a room, and then find the leader of this village to hear the exact plea of theirs.”

Someone who gets right down to business; as expected of a cultivator of the Mandalore Sect. “We should also be stocking for porridge,” Mace says, and notices how Kix seems to freeze and turn his attention on him. Strange. He adds cautiously, “In case one of us gets... corpse poisoning.”

“That’s if we get too close, Windu,” Kix says, inclines his head as he motions towards his _pipa_. “I can try and heal you with one of the melodies I’ve been working on, but other than that, yes, we should stock up on porridge just in case.”

So the rumours _are_ true, Mace thinks as he slowly nods his assent. Kix has been able to heal others with the melodies of his _pipa_ , or at least, been trying to develop a way to do so. It’s impressive, if he has to admit it. No one has ever attempted to heal someone with music, so it will be incredible if Kix manages to find a way.

The resentment grows thicker as they slowly make their way to the village, hanging in the air with hatred and despair curling around them. He relaxes within it, lets the realization sink in, breathes. Resentment is what has gotten him so far in Demonic Cultivation, to the point where he can use it as a weapon to defend others. Mace blinks slowly as they enter through the gates, placing his hand on his sword as he observes their surroundings. 

There’s tension and silence as they walk through the streets, some villagers stopping in order to glare suspiciously, while the rest ignore them. Something hums in his ears, before he feels eyes on his back, turns around. Nothing but villagers wandering and a dog tumbling out of its house to bark wildly.

“Usually there’s some excitement happening in the streets,” Kix says, seemingly confused, like he isn’t used to this sort of sight.

“In villages like these, where there are Fierce Corpses and Ghosts roaming around more frequently, it’s always tense,” Mace tells him, keeps his eyes straight in front of him. Some villagers are moving rather sluggish, almost as slow as some Fierce Corpses he’s seen. He frowns; the situation is more dire than he initially thought.

Ghosts are perhaps already possessing the villagers?

“Still, there’s usually something going on.” The other cultivator points to the dog, who’s still barking wildly at something. “But look, no one’s reacting to it, telling it to shut up, or go away. Strange, isn’t it?”

Mace doesn’t answer him, only tilting his head to the side. It’s certainly curious, curious to see no one reprimanding the dog. Turns around to observe some of the villagers watching them, their hands gripping cups of white liquid. Wine, by the looks of it, and various attempts of getting drunk.

Kix stops next to the stall selling porridge and rice, meeting his gaze before looking away. “Is there a bag of rice I can buy from you?” he asks the vendor, as Mace stops next to him. A curl of irritation beats against him, then merges with the resentment.

Interesting.

The vendor barely spares them a glance. “For ten,” she says curtly, reaches down and swings a large bag of rice onto the stand. Dirt sprinkles down from the sudden loud _thud_ , and Mace raises a hand to stop Kix from reaching into his bag, quietly taking out his own money and slides the right amount towards her.

“You didn’t have to pay,” Kix murmurs as he grabs the bag, carefully slinging it over his shoulder. Brown eyes watch him cautiously, one hand drifting over the sword, and it makes Mace quietly snort as he steps aside to dodge a barrage of children passing them.

“And your point is?”

“I could have paid it by myself,” Kix says, furrowing his brows. It makes him seem focused, steady, and Mace breathes. The cultivators of the Mandalore Sect are prideful and often reluctant to ask for help. Perhaps he should consider how Kix wants to do things before he does it himself next time.

“It doesn’t matter who pays for it, Fett,” Mace says firmly instead. “We have a duty right now, and that’s to help this village. You can pay next time, if it still bothers you.”

Kix blinks, before a soft smile spreads across his lips. “Thank you, Windu.”

Mace gives him a curt nod, avoids the man’s eyes before looking back to the road and dodges an incoming cart. Busier, now that they’ve reached the middle of the village, but there’s still silence, despite some villagers hollering into the air for their sales. Children stare at them with wide, curious eyes that sorely reminds him of the disciples at home. 

Resentment twists around them, digging claws into his shoulders and Mace doesn’t flinch, only keeps walking. A long, wooden building looms next to them, the symbol and sign of an inn hanging from the smaller roof, looking rather shabby from the cracked walls within it. It looks normal, though, despite the lack of a welcomed feeling.

“Looks homey,” Kix says dryly as they stop in front of the building.

“A wonderful thing, indeed,” Mace says gravely, makes Kix snort and slips through the doorway.

Inside, it’s a little more welcoming than the outside world. Dim lights and candles pierces the darkness with sunlight shining through the windows. A banner of welcoming words wave from the side of the wall, with some talismans and charms hanging from the ceiling and lying on the floor. Resentment seems to have settled here, but it’s also stronger, which puzzles him.

In front of him, a young man sits at a counter with a hand under his chin, looking rather bored. Red markings and tattoos run delicately across his face and down his neck, like how Agen’s black dotted tattoos run across his face. Except... the man has yellow eyes.

Only one sect has yellow eyes, and they’ve vanished centuries ago.

It’s impossible, and yet, he knows some people have yellow eyes, but not as striking as this. Negativity seems to have settled around the man, though, seemingly at home. Kix nudges him with his foot, before stepping up to the counter and clearing his throat. The man’s eyes snap towards them, before a look of disdain passes through his features.

“May I help you?” the man asks crudely.

“We’re looking for some rooms to stay in for a while,” Kix says carefully, a small smile touching upon his face. It’s a polite one, but– Kix doesn’t seem comfortable with him. The resentment seems to be growing, too.

The man rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with Kix’s attempts to be polite. “There’s only one room left.”

Kix’s smile strains. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“The room is on your left, furthest down the hall.” The man throws a key onto the counter, and Mace takes it. It’s smaller than expected, bronze shining in the light before Mace turns, takes Kix’s hand and guides him away from the man. Then– “If you plan to fuck, keep it down!”

He glances towards Kix, who looks like he’s about to strangle someone with the sash around his waist. A bold assumption, and a huge mistake. “Pay him no heed,” Mace advises as they walk down the hallway, the wooden planks creaking under their footsteps. Doesn’t pause when Kix lets out a noise of indignation.

Better if they're as far away from that man as possible, even if he isn’t who Mace thinks he is.

“Right,” Kix drawls when they approach their room, a wooden door that looks on the verge of breaking down to pieces, before he steals the key from Mace’s hand and inserts it in. The door creaks open, and Kix gestures to the opening with his arm, with a tilt of his head and a smile. “Gentlemen first.”

“How kind,” Mace says lightly, steps past him and into the room.

The first thing that catches his attention is the small table against the wall, two chairs across each other. There’s another door that presumably leads to the bathroom, while a large window frames another wall, with curtains rippling from a small breeze. The space is big enough for them to walk in and make talismans, which is good enough for him.

Kix shuts the door behind them, slips by him to dump the bag of rice next to the wall, and Mace is content to let him pass. He’s much more interested to see if he has enough space to lay out everything he needs to prepare for tonight, after their discussion with the leader of the village. 

“Windu, you may want to see this,” Kix says bluntly. Mace looks up, sees Kix standing next to the other wall, before he raises his eyebrow and joins him. Right in front of them, there’s– “One bed,” Kix mutters with a grim smile. “We’re gonna have to share a bed.”

Mace closes his eyes, bites back a curse, and resists the urge to slam it against the wall.


End file.
